


Made With Love

by amethystviolist



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cooking, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-30
Updated: 2014-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-19 08:17:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2381333
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amethystviolist/pseuds/amethystviolist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Sam forgets to buy pie crust, Dean was just going to make pie another time. But Cas decides to take matters into his own hands- literally. The pie crust he tries to make, however, leads to more than just a perfect cherry pie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Made With Love

**Author's Note:**

> The ficlet is set in the bunker after the angels have fallen, but this is a sort-of AU where Cas wasn't kicked out by Gadreel (or at least hasn't been yet at the point the story takes place). Shouldn't be any canon spoilers.  
> This was inspired by a prompt from my friend, so all due credit to her :)

“Sammy!” yelled Dean, muttering curses under his breath as he rifled through the grocery bags.

“What?” Sam called back, poking his head around the corner and peeking into the large kitchen of the bunker, where Dean stood over a collection of plastic Wal-Mart bags in front of the refrigerator.

“Dude, you forgot the frozen crust for the pie! That’s kind of an important part!” snapped Dean in frustration, putting away the other items of food a little more violently than necessary.

“Did I?” questioned Sam, coming over to paw through the bags himself. When he reluctantly straightened with no pie crust in hand, Dean shot him a murderous look. “Dude, I’m really sorry. Can’t you make one out of pancake batter or something?” Dean changed his expression to an exasperated are-you-a-freaking-idiot glare.

“No, I can’t make a pie crust out of pancake batter.” He sighed loudly, looking at the other pie-making ingredients. “It’s okay, maybe I can run out tomorrow and get one. We’ll just have it for dessert tomorrow night.” Unseen to either of them, Castiel hung behind in the hallway, listening to the exchange. He hadn’t really cooked anything, ever, but how hard could it be? The man slipped back toward Sam’s room, looking for his laptop.

“What do you want for dinner tonight?” Dean asked Sam, completely oblivious to Castiel’s moment of eavesdropping.

“Well, I got the stuff for your spaghetti sauce stuff, if you like. I can boil the noodles while you do whatever the heck you do to make that stuff,” Sam offered, withdrawing a box of pasta from one of the plastic bags.

“Sure, the pots are under the microwave,” said Dean, lining up his ingredients on the counter. A few tomatoes, ground beef, an onion, green bell peppers, canned tomato paste, a block of Parmesan cheese, and various spices like garlic, oregano, thyme, pepper. Then he began, taking a pan from one of the many cabinets and tossing the ground beef in it, setting the pan on the stovetop to begin cooking as he poured other ingredients into a large bowl, humming “Smoke on the Water” under his breath. He pulled out a cutting board and began dicing vegetables, the onion, green pepper, and tomatoes all going under his knife and then into the bowl on the other side of the stove. Sam’s pot with the noodles began to bubble sluggishly, and Dean took the opportunity to stir his ground beef, adding a little olive oil after a moment’s thought. While the meat sizzled and the water bubbled, Dean continued adding ingredients to the bowl, tossing in the spices and grating cheese over it. A slight pause of thought, and Dean added a generous dollop of scotch to the pot.

~

Sam was hovering behind him, watching with interest as his brother whirled around the kitchen, adding ingredients with a flick of his hand with hardly ever stopping. Sam loved to watch Dean like this, unconcerned with whatever problems the outside world was having. Dean blocked out the rest of the world when he cooked, and it was one of the few times now that Sam actually saw him happy. Sam could make dinner for the three of them just as easily, it was true. He’d pop something in the microwave and stir until it was ready to eat, then dish it up on the wooden table in the next room. But Dean took his time with preparing a meal, making many things from scratch, and complaining when Sam made even the slightest deviation from his ingredient list while shopping. Dean loved to cook, although he would never, ever admit it to another soul, and Sam was happy just watching him buzz around the kitchen, humming and stirring and tasting. When Castiel slipped in beside him, Sam shot him a smile and went back to watching Dean, who was apparently oblivious to their presence in his kitchen.

“Sam,” Castiel said softly, apparently trying not to break Dean’s concentration, “How does one print something from your laptop?” Sam looked at him with mild surprise, straightening from where he leaned on the counter.

“Uh, come on, I’ll show you. What do you want to print, anyway?” asked Sam, walking out of the kitchen and toward his bedroom, with Cas following closely.

~

Dean turned as he heard footsteps, and saw Cas and Sam leaving the kitchen. he hadn’t even realized Cas was there, the sneaky thing. He turned back to the sauce, tasting it with a finger. Bay leaves, he realized. He’d forgotten the bay leaves. Dean looked around the kitchen, checking even the most unlikely of drawers, but had no luck. He continued by pouring the meat into the bowl, still hot, and stirring in the rest of the tomato paste, until it was entirely ready minus the bay leaves. Dean knew he could just leave them out… But a recipe was a recipe, and must be followed. The cellar had extra stores of nearly every non-perishable item imaginable, and Dean was about eighty percent certain that bay leaves were down there with some other spices. he could just replenish them when he grabbed that pie crust tomorrow. Dean made sure to pull the pot of noodles off the stove and turn every dial on the stove to off so that he wouldn’t burn down the entire bunker before he made his way down one of the many hallways to the cellar. He was fairly sure that the storage cellar was this way, anyway. Or was it right back there instead of left? Dean wandered the halls, conscious of the fact that his sauce and the noodles were getting colder and colder… The cellar had to be here somewhere!

~

Sam pulled the warm paper off the printer and raised his eyebrows.

“‘How to Make a Pie Crust From Scratch’?” he read off. “Why are you- oh. Did you want pie tonight that badly, Cas?” Castiel shrugged his shoulders, the maroon sweater bunching up at his waist.

“I thought it would be a kind gesture, since Dean had planned to have it tonight,” he explained simply. Sam handed him the printed sheet with the instructions, dubious of the former angel’s cooking abilities but saying nothing.

“Knock yourself out,” he said good-naturedly. Cas tilted his head slightly, his eyes squinted in a confused expression; an action that still screamed ANGEL to Sam.

“Why would I do that?” asked Cas, clearly thrown by what he took as Sam’s suggestion to make himself unconscious.

“No, no,” Sam backtracked quickly, mentally facepalming. “It’s an expression. It means you should go have fun.”

“Oh,” Castiel said simply, looking less confused as he headed toward the kitchen. Sam sat down on his bed, pulling his laptop closer to him. The last thing he needed now was Dean seeing his windows open on cooking advice websites- the teasing would be merciless. As much as Dean enjoyed being in the kitchen, he didn’t consider it ‘manly’ and would add cooking websites to his arsenal of reasons to tease his kid brother. Sam closed every window and opened up Google instead. Maybe it was time he saw if any hunts were nearby.

~

Castiel slipped into the kitchen, noticing immediately that Dean wasn’t there, although steam still rose from two pots on the countertop next to the stove. The dark-haired man stood silently in the kitchen for a moment, clutching the paper in his hands with a tight, nervous expression before putting back his shoulders and reading the ingredients from the page. Combine the above amounts of flour, sugar, and salt, he read silently. Castiel looked at the many cabinets, and picked one randomly. Porcelain cups. No. Next cupboard, tall, clear glasses. No. Castiel went methodically through every door until he found a large mixing bowl and the ingredients for the pie that weren’t already on the counter where Dean must have put them earlier. He began making the pie crust, dumping in two and a half cups worth of flour, which billowed white dust all over his face and his sweater, but Castiel decided to ignore it. He could wash it later with the newly discovered washing machine two hallways over from his room. Salt, sugar, butter, and cold water were all added, until the mixture almost magically began to clump together. Castiel held the glob of dough in his hand, practically grinning at it. He was making something to eat, all by himself.

“Cas?” came a stunned-sounding voice from the doorway behind him. Castiel spun around, startled, to see Dean standing there with a look torn between amusement and concern.

“Uh, hi Dean,” he said after a small swallow. He held out the dough in his cupped hands, noticing the flour coating his once-maroon sweater sleeves. “I’m making you a pie crust.”

“That’s, uh…” Dean stared at Castiel still, seemingly in shock. “That’s nice, Cas.” Dean took a few steps toward him into the kitchen, and then suddenly turned away, ripping open a packet he must have been carrying without Castiel noticing.

“I had to go get the bay leaves from the storage cellar,” Dean explained over his shoulder. Castiel set down the dough blob on the clean counter and went to stand by Dean.

“What function do the bay leaves serve?” he asked curiously. Dean glanced sideways at him, pouring the slightly-steaming noodles through a colander.

“Seasoning,” Dean replied simply, leaving the spaghetti in the sink to drain and going back to his batch of meat sauce. “It’s just better with bay leaves.”

“Why?” questioned Castiel.

“Why?” repeated Dean, then shrugged after a moments thought. “I dunno, Cas, it tastes more… better.” Castiel followed Dean as he hefted the pot of sauce and headed toward the dining table.

“I don’t believe that was correct grammar,” commented the former angel.

“Oh shut up,” grumbled Dean, setting the large bowl down with a thud, causing the sauce to splash over the sides. With a muttered curse, Dean grabbed the nearest napkin from the places that Sam had already set and mopped it off the wooden tabletop. Castiel noticed detachedly that Dean had a streak of it on his cheek, and a drop just under his lips. Dean had very nice lips, Castiel realized, studying the spot.

“Oi, Pillsberry Doughboy!” Dean was addressing him when Castiel started paying attention to what those lips were actually saying. “I said, you ready to make the pie crust?”

“Yes,” replied Castiel vaguely, not even bothering to point out that he was not called Pillsberry or Doughboy. It was probably another reference to something he didn’t understand. Together, they walked back into the kitchen area and to the counter, Castiel wondering if he should say something about the sauce splattered on Dean’s face or leave it alone.

~

Dean tried not to stare anymore at the dark-haired man covered with flour in his kitchen. He did enough staring when he first walked in. But it was hard to take his eyes off Cas, his hair more rumpled than usual with flecks of white dough, and flour covering his front like fresh powdered snow. Together, the men approached the counter with Castiel’s dough project, flour coating the counter with the mountain of dough in the middle of the mess. As Dean split the dough into two pieces for the top and bottom of the crust, he found himself thinking more and more about how attractive it was to see Cas in the kitchen, his sleeves pushed back and his arms now kneading his half of the dough next to Dean’s. Despite his attempts to not think about thinking about thinking about it, Dean was thinking about thinking about it.

Or something like that.

He did his best to ignore Cas and his big blue eyes as he pushed his palm into the soon-to-be pie crust, before finally getting a rolling pin.

“Here, Cas,” Dean said to get his attention. “The dough looks good. We’re gonna roll it out into a circle now, okay? So make yours into a little ball like this,” added Dean, demonstrating by rolling his dough between his hands. It crossed his mind as Cas intensely watched him roll the dough between his palms that he should be mad about the enormous mess Cas had made of his kitchen. Flour was all over the counter and the floor, the bag half-falling over, and a used measuring cup made a puddle of water next to the cannister of salt, not to mention the sheer amount of flour on Cas himself. It looked like he dumped the bag over his head. Maybe Dean should wipe the flour off Cas’s face. Without meaning to, Dean realized he was staring at the moderate stubble on Castiel’s face, tracing the man’s strong jawline with his eyes.

“Is this correct?” came the gravelly voice. Dean started slightly and looked away from Cas’s jaw and instead at the lumpy ball of dough in his hand.

“Looks great,” commented Dean generously. “Why don’t you roll these out into circles for the pie crust, and I’ll mix the filling.” Cas took the rolling pin from Dean’s hand, his eyes lingering a moment too long on his face. But the next instant, Dean was sure he imagined it, because Cas was deadly intent on rolling out the wad of dough into a circle. The older Winchester turned to his neat line-up of materials for a cherry pie filling and started dumping things into a wide bowl. The filling for a pie, any type, was simple knowledge in Dean’s head, drilled there from practice as much as the Latin to a demon exorcism. As he stirred in the sugar, Dean started to sing Metallica under his breath.

“She holds the pen that spells the end, she traces me and draws me in. Ooh, Sweet Amber, ooh, Sweet Amber! How sweet are you? How sweet does it get?” Dean couldn’t help but think about the irony of adding sugar and sing ‘how sweet does it get’, and chuckled to himself softly. It was probably against some law of manliness somewhere to be making cherry pie and singing Metallica at the same time, but at the moment he didn’t care. He was cooking, and he was with Cas, and the rest of the world could wait until his pie was done.

~

Castiel pushed the rolling pin in front of him and pulled it back again finding the repetitive motion relaxing. No wonder Dean liked cooking so much. It wasn’t as hard as Sam’s trepidation had implied, and spending time with Dean, even in the mutual silence, was pleasant. He heard Dean singing softly, and strained his ears to listen, catching the soft laugh Dean had deep in his throat. It was a beautiful sound, Castiel reflected. He liked the tremor of Dean’s laugh.

“Hey,” came a new voice from across the room. Both Dean and Castiel looked up to see a head of long brown hair in the doorway. “How’s the homemade crust going?”

“Great,” Dean replied with a quick smile flashed at Castiel. “Made by our hands with lots o’ love, little bro.” Castiel frowned in confusion. It was feeling like a more and more common expression the longer he stayed with the Winchesters in the bunker.

“I don’t understand. How could it have love in it?” To Castiel’s surprise, Dean turned a slight pink around his neck and ears, avoiding his eyes. Sam answered, however, with some explanation about how it was something people said occasionally when they cooked for family.

“Oh,” commented Castiel, still not really understanding why Dean was blushing, but deciding not to comment on it.

“You two are a mess,” Sam laughed. “How did you get that much flour on the floor?”

“You look like you lost a fight with a flour bag, Cas,” Dean added, regaining his confidence and grinning at his target. Castiel looked at the floor, then at the grinning brothers.

“By spilling it, I suppose,” he answered seriously. The Winchesters laughed together, and although Castiel was uncertain of the humor in his words, he smiled, too. After a beat of quiet filled by Dean’s absent-minded humming, Sam nodded to Cas and disappeared with a shout to call him when dinner was ready.

“Hey Cas, got those crusts ready?” Dean asked after a moment, taking a few steps to stand next to him, holding the bowl full of what must be the filling.

“Yes,” Castiel decided, looking at the two mostly-circular pieces of dough on the counter in front of him and trying his best to ignore how close Dean was standing. Close enough to smell that scent that was uniquely Dean, the combination of whiskey and leather and machine oil, and not just the smell of the cherry filling he was holding.

“Awesome. Let’s get it in the pan and roast this sucker.”

~

Forty-five minutes later, Dean pulled a hot pie out of the oven, steam rising in small wisps from the pan held between his oven mitts. Cas was grinning, full out grinning, and it made Dean grin right back.

“We did it, Cas, we made a pie crust from scratch! Think it’ll be any good?” Dean asked, setting it on the counter to cool and replacing the oven mitts to their proper drawer.

“It should be. We made it together, and your cooking has been pleasing in the past,” Castiel pointed out.

“It was nice cooking with you, Cas,” Dean blurted suddenly. Immediately, his face flushed pink. Stupid, Winchester, he berated himself internally. Castiel could hardly make a circle out of the dough with a rolling pin. Now he was thanking him for messing up his impeccable kitchen? Stupid.

“Maybe we could make something else together tomorrow,” Castiel suggested without thinking. Stupid, Castiel, he thought immediately. Dean surely didn’t appreciate him dumping ingredients all over the kitchen. But to his surprise, Dean smiled back, almost shyly.

“I’d like that,” he replied. For a moment, Dean and Castiel stared at each other, each smiling a little bashfully and a little hopefully.

“You’ve got…” Castiel swallowed visibly, for once understanding what Dean always said about personal space. Dean suddenly seemed very close. “You’ve got sauce on your face.”

“Oh, do I? I mean- that’s just- crap, where’s a-” Dean immediately reddened and started searching for something to clean it off. Castiel reached behind him and grabbed a dishcloth.

“Here,” he offered. Dean took it and wiped the opposite cheek from where the sauce streaked his face.

“Did I get it?” asked Dean, looking expectantly at Castiel with wide green eyes. Castiel looked back uncertainly, then took the cloth.

“May I?” he asked softly. Dean nodded, leaning in slightly to give Cas better access to his his face. Castiel dabbed the cloth at his cheek, the slight dampness causing the drifting air to send chills racing down Dean’s spine. Definitely the cloth. But then- sweet mother of pie- Cas moved the cloth to his lips and Dean forgot how to form complete sentences. He knew somewhere deep down that Castiel was probably just doing this to be polite, but those thoughts didn’t come easily when those blue eyes and full lips were so close. And that same part of him was imagining that there was a slight catch in Cas’s breath as the damp cloth ghosted over his lips. Castiel swallowed deeply and put down the cloth, but didn’t move away.

“It’s gone now,” Cas whispered, his deep voice seemingly more hoarse than usual.

“That’s… good,” said Dean haltingly. Or something similar to that. It was hard to think clearly this close to Castiel. “Very…”

Without planning it in the slightest, Dean found the space between their faces closed, lips pressed together desperately. Cas tasted a bit like the flour he was covered in, and also like the air after the rain and the first snow of winter, and Dean lost himself of the feel of his lips. Castiel wasn’t entirely sure who had closed the space between them, but he wasn’t going to try and think about it at the moment. For now, he could feel Dean’s lips moving against his, and tasted a hint of the sauce he had spent so long working on, and other things, like the first flash of lightning in a thunderstorm and the last leaves on autumn winds. After a few lightning-filled seconds, or maybe it was a few sunlit days, Dean and Castiel pulled apart, both breathing rather harder than before.

“Damn,” Dean said softly. Cas seemed to be thinking along the same lines, but remained silent, lips slightly parted and bright blue eyes wide. A little more hesitantly this time, Dean leaned closer, and Castiel moved forward, sealing their lips together again. Somehow, Dean’s fingers found Cas’s hair and tangled themselves in it. Castiel’s hands moved too, one to Dean’s back and the other to his neck, making tiny, gentle circles. Dean felt the slightest scrape of Castiel’s stubble against his own jawline, and Cas ran his fingers through Dean’s hair for the first time, relishing the softness under his fingertips.

The sudden jangling sound of a timer scared them apart, jumping away from each other.

“We didn’t turn off the timer,” Dean pointed out dumbly, his voice a little rough. Castiel chuckled slightly, and Dean felt his insides twist in the best way.

“We should-” Castiel swallowed, trying to get control of his voice. He cleared his throat and tried again. “We should call Sam for dinner. Before the pie gets cold.”

“Yeah,” Dean replied, trying to clear his head from the haze of kissing Cas. “Yeah, that’d be good.” And he did his best not to think of other things that would be good and mostly involved Cas.

“I think I’d like to try cooking again tomorrow,” Castiel commented. “And… and other things.” Castiel felt a heat spread across his face, and realized he was blushing. But Dean just laughed, almost drunkenly.

“I’d really like that, Cas. You’re welcome in my kitchen anytime.” Castiel smiled back. After another moment of locked gazes, Cas regained his serious look and went to pull the noodles from the colander in the sink, as Dean turned off the timer and went to fetch Sam. The pie really was made with love, Cas thought as Dean’s rather ruffled hair disappeared around the doorway. Castiel smiled to himself in the empty, messy kitchen. He couldn’t wait for the next project tomorrow with Dean Winchester.

It was going to be made with love, too.


End file.
